Chapter 1 - The House Was Too Quiet
My daughter was dragging her little brother across the floor when I opened our front door.
Seven-year-old Lily looked up. Her knees scraped the hardwood. Tommy, three, lay beside her with one fist curled in his shirt. She had both hands under his shoulders, trying to move him toward the kitchen without hurting him.
"Daddy?" Her voice was almost too small to hear. "I tried to protect him."
I dropped my suitcase. I'd been away twelve days inspecting job sites and expected two children racing into my arms. Instead, the house smelled stale, the curtains were closed, and neither child had the strength to stand.
"I'm here." I knelt. "Lily, look at me. What happened?"
She put one hand over Tommy's ear. "Don't be mad. We were supposed to stay quiet."
Tommy's skin felt hot. When I lifted him, his head fell against my chest. I called 911 before asking another question. The dispatcher guided me through checking his breathing and keeping both children comfortable until help came. I gave our address twice because my mouth wouldn't work.
"Where's Mommy?" I asked Lily.
"She went out. She said she'd be right back."
"When?"
Lily looked toward the dark hall. "After the rain. There was another rain last night."
That meant at least a day. Maybe longer. My wife, Mara, had sent me texts all week: Everything's fine. Kids asleep. See you Friday. It was Thursday. I'd taken an earlier flight to surprise them.
Lily tugged my sleeve. "Daddy, I thought you forgot us."
"Never." I wanted to say a dozen reassuring things, but the ambulance was already turning into our street. "You did the right thing calling out. You don't have to look after Tommy alone anymore."
The paramedic carried Tommy toward the stretcher. Lily reached for him and panicked when he moved out of sight. I stayed between them until she could see he was safe.
As we left, she pointed down the hallway to the room Mara had always called storage.
"Mommy said not to tell you about that door," she whispered. "That's where she made us practice."
I looked at the brass lock, then back at my daughter.
May you like
"Practice what?"
Lily swallowed. "Being children whose daddy never comes home."
